


Unbreakable Bond

by BluepPenguin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, In this AU Mpreg is possible, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Very minor Hinny, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluepPenguin/pseuds/BluepPenguin
Summary: Everybody had a mate, no exceptions. With your mate came a special birthmark that allowed you to identify each other. However, the Mark had an expiration date.Draco Malfoy, twenty-one years old, had his life planed out from the moment he graduated from Hogwarts. All of his calculations were rendered pointless when his stubborn Mark decided to stay on his skin for another year, which could mean one single thing: his magic had identified who his soulmate was, and was giving its all for a bond to be formed.Now if he could only figure out exactly who it was that his stupid destiny had decided to pick for him.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurred to me one day while I was working and it just wouldn't leave my mind, so I decided to write it down. I wasn't very sure about posting it before finishing writing the whole thing, but after I scribbled the first chapter I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> I don't know if this has been done yet in this exact shape or form, soulmate fanfics are not exactly original anymore, but I hope you can bear with me!

He was straightening his hair when he heard a faint knock on his main door. He checked himself out on the mirror one last time, barely registering its shameless praising, then strolled across the room, took a deep breath, eyes closed, and opened it. One step away, mother was looking at him critically, a smile scarcely straining her lips. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Mother,” clearly, Narcissa was able to see right through him, because she slightly raised her perfect right eyebrow. He gestured with his hand, giving her permission to come in, then stepped away from the door to give her space. She entered without even muttering a word.

“I hope you are not too displeased with this situation,” she said after elegantly taking a seat on one of his armchairs, right beside the fireplace. The orange flames illuminated her features, making her pale skin glow and her eyes shine. She almost looked ethereal. And she should, Draco knew fairly well that it wasn’t her natural beauty only that helped her look that way. His own morning routine paled in comparison with his mother’s.

He couldn’t hold the huff that escaped his lungs, but continued to say nothing.

“Draco, we have already explained to you why it is important that you make some sacrifices this few upcoming months. Believe it or not, it is for your own good. You do know that, do not make this more difficult than it has to be.” Her tone was reassuring and warm, but her eyes held firmness in them. She would not change her mind, and as long as he wasn’t the family head, he was to obey them. It didn’t matter if he liked their decisions it or not. That knowledge, and his respect towards her were the only things that stopped a few harsh fords from exiting his mind.

He didn’t notice that he had crossed his arms until he forced himself to relax. He untangled them slowly, took a deep breath, and sat opposite her, on the other beige armchair. He tried to convey as much appreciation as he could gather, considering how unhappy was with the circus his life was turning into.

“I know,” he finally replied, “I will do as you say, if only to please you and father.” That didn’t exactly mean that he approved their plans, and she knew it, but she didn’t give any further retorts, just rose and reached out to give his cheek a feathery caress.

“You need to be present to as many gatherings as possible for more than one reason this year. You cannot disappoint me, Draco, it is simply not within your capability. But I would be happier to know that you don’t miss your chance. It is the last one you get.” She told him that, gave him a saddened smile, then turned around and left.

He shut his eyes, leaned his head heavily on the armchair’s back, and grunted out his frustration. The year hadn’t even begun yet, and he was already tired of it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Blaise, I swear to Merlin, if I hear _one_ more thing from you I will _eviscerate_ you so hard that your remains will be nowhere to be seen,” Draco spat. He was mortified to notice that his came out in a high-pitched screech.

Blaise ignored his deathly glare and proceeded to attempt putting an arm around his shoulders, as if he had absolutely no care in the world. Which he probably didn’t. As far as he knew, Blaise had close to nothing worthy to complain about.

Draco slapped it away from him and impatiently tapped his foot on the cool marble under his feet.

Blaise, the bastard, just laughed and raised both hands as if in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I was just saying, none of this would’ve happened if you weren’t oh-so afraid of your mommy and daddy. Can’t you just say no for once?”

Draco stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two more heads for a second, then batted Blaise’s arm away from him one more time.

“Oh, of course! How did I not think about that? Genius! Now I just need to say goodbye to my heritage and learn how to strip for a living! Must I remind you that not everyone is so fortunate as to have parents that let you do as you want?”

And what a good thing that was when Blaise and Pansy ended up accidentally bonding while they were still in sixth year. A scandal like that, if it had happened to Draco, would’ve probably meant the end of his life as he knew it. Still, they decided to take it slow and see where it took them. Not that they could just ‘divorce’. They had been lucky to have known each other since they were no more than babbling snot packages, and had easily fallen into an official relationship no longer after the event.

“Here it comes,” said Pansy, who just happened to enter the room after being away for almost half an hour, allegedly doing her makeup if her red lips and colourful eyelids were anything to go by. “It’s drama time with Dray!” She looked annoyingly cheerful, and it made Draco want to forget about ever having friends and just go his merry-fucking-way.

“Leave it, Pans. It must be that time of the month.” The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his smile. “Not to mention that he just told me that he couldn’t make it tonight to our amazing, fun, _mental_ New Year’s Eve party. He’s going to be too occupied looking for the love of his life! Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Last warning, Zabini. Next thing that comes out of that hole of yours, your pretty face will be a thing of the past.”

Blaise cooed. Actually cooed.

“You think my face is pretty?” He somehow managed to lace their arms together while he wasn’t paying attention, then looked him directly in the eye and batted his eyelashes. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good stripper if you worked a little bit on putting some fat onto that scrawny arse of yours.”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to find his soulmate, he was aware that it might be his only shot at having a normal life. But on the other hand, at least he knew what to expect from Astoria. He had known her for years, they understood each other. They were compatible.

On all aspects except from the attraction that was supposed to exist in a marriage, at least.

But he could live without that, his only duty regarding his love life towards the family was to wed someone and give an heir. That was it.

 It would be best to spend his life with a friend than with whomever ‘fate’ had decided to spit out for him, because there was no escaping _that_ kind of bonding, and if it didn’t work out he would be doomed to living the rest of his years with someone he loathed.

His mother meant well, and his father was probably hoping for someone influencing, someone who had maybe evaded the system and would bring fame to the family name, he was even ready to forego the pending alliance with the Greengrasses for that reason.

At that point, however, Draco had lost all hope. If he did marry Astoria, he’d have options, at least. He'd warned her about his preferences from the moment he found out that they might be engaged one day and, after giving it thought for some time, she said that she was all right with it.

Regardless of what he wanted, his parents had decided that, until his twenty-second anniversary, he would attend as many social events as it was physically possible. Just in case. That had been going on since the moment he turned twenty-one and discovered that his Mark was not gone yet.

The Mark was something that every witch and wizard were born with and that developed from a little garble once they started going through their puberty. They were sometimes symbols, others had letters or even images, like in Draco’s case. They appeared grey and stayed that colour until the bonding was completed, at which point they would turn colourful. They only existed in pairs, and not two couple of Marks in the whole world were identical.

They stayed on one’s skin from that moment until the person turned twenty, at which point they would slowly begin to fade. By the time they turned twenty-one, if they hadn’t met their soulmate, the mark would be gone. There had been some rare cases in the past where the pair had found each other at later ages, and after intercourse they had woken up with brand new coloured Marks on their skin. Of course, that almost never happened on pure-blooded, traditional families like the Malfoys.

Something that, by Draco’s standards, was to remain private, had been documented carefully in the pureblood society. Every year, the Database of Marks was updated and shared among the members in the hope of forging new alliances through them. Once the Mark was gone, if someone hadn’t had the ‘great honour’ of meeting their mates, the person was entitled to take a two month mourning period, after which they had to say their goodbyes to what could have been forever and become immediately engaged to someone else.

He would’ve already be married to Astoria if it weren’t for the little fact that his stupid, stubborn Mark was still standing proudly on his right shoulder, unconcerned of the agenda. That could only mean one thing: he had already met his soulmate and his magic knew exactly who it was. It wasn’t like he could just ask it pretty please to tell him. It really could be any unmated person in Wizarding Britain, or even other territories. They could easily be someone whom he’d only met once in his life as a child.

Regardless of that detail, his family had decided that he should try his hardest to find them. Most likely, by the time he turned twenty-two, his chance would be gone. Apparently, he’d _know_ who it was once he saw them. The whole ordeal sounded like utter horse crack to him.

That is exactly why, at eleven twenty on New Year’s Eve, he was roaming the Ministry building on his way to the ball room when he would’ve rather spent the night getting pissed with his friends.

As for Blaise, well. He would just have to start the year with a nasty itch in his pants, and he’d not even started having his revenge on him for laughing in his face when he told him why he was bailing on them that night, the bastard couldn’t even have the decency to at least wait until he left before opening his big, fat mouth.

He passed a few aurors that were acting as guards for the event on his way, and gave them an absent nod. Much sooner than he’d like, he was standing in front of two double doors. That was where the New Year’s party was taking place.

He could hear the loud music even before opening them. The sound was cut abruptly, however, and then someone, possibly Minister Shacklebolt, was speaking. He didn’t have the time to enter the room before another person had taken charge of amusing the guests. The voice was a little muffled, they had probably forgotten to cast a Sonorus charm before giving their discourse. Draco rolled his eyes at their incompetence and finally opened the door.

His Mark vibrated.

 The person speaking, whose voice was louder and clearer on the other side, gasped.

He couldn’t help but grab his shoulder and rub his Mark. And then he looked at the podium and his blood turned to ice.

“Oh, no fucking way!” The words left his mouth before he had even had the time to think about the guests, which had turned when he made his entrance and were alternating their bewildered gazes between him and the idiot standing there, looking at him as if he were Dumbledore’s ghost itself, back from wherever souls went after leaving this world.

As his universe started spinning, he felt the worst headache in wizarding history attacking mercilessly his temples.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Than you so much to all of the people who took a few minutes of their time to read, give kudos, and comment in the first chapter! It means so much for a new-ish writer as myself, I appreciate each and every one of you!
> 
> This chapter is sort of an explanatory one. I'm a little bit nervous about it because, being my first Drarry fanfic, I worry about keeping them in character. I did my best, so I really hope you like it!

No.

This _had_ to be some sort of joke. It _must’ve been_.

In front of hundreds of people, the person standing on the absurd, poorly-made stage, looking like a bloody moron while holding his right shoulder in a pathetic mimic of Draco’s own conduct, was no other than Harry fucking Potter, and he was gaping at him so hard that, where it someone else and a different situation, Draco would have started to get worried.

To be completely honest, his own appearance couldn’t be much better if one were to ignore the murderous look that he was starting to sprout as shock began to merge dangerously with sheer fury.

He barely perceived Shacklebolt taking over once more since his eyes were fixed on Potter, who had stepped down and was returning his stare.

“Screw this,” Draco muttered, and he began to turn around. His parents could very well forget about him getting mated if that’s what the batty universe had chosen for him. The sole thought of it made him want to annihilate the mighty Boy who lived in his sleep. Again.

He had spun almost completely when a “Mister Malfoy, a moment if you will” interrupted him.

And no, he didn’t have a bloody moment. He was going home and sending fate to fuck itself until he’d managed to forget everything about that night and move the hell on.

“Mister Malfoy,” the same person cried. They grabbed him by his arm, thankfully the left one, because he didn’t think he would have been able to handle someone touching his other one for the time being. He twisted himself in order to send whomever it was to the furthest circle of hell and came face to face with Professor McGonagall.

“Follow me,” she demanded. She didn’t even give him the opportunity to refuse. Instead, she forcefully dragged him out.

He was scarcely aware in the back of his mind that she was leading him through the hall and practically shoving him into another room, notoriously smaller. By the look of it, it must’ve been someone’s office. There were a few filing cabinets and bookshelves bursting with archives on either side, various paintings here and there, the one huge potted plant in the corner that was in desperate need of watering, and one large desk directly in front of the door, accompanied of three contrasting chairs. None of the articles matched, as if the room had been thrown together at last notice and they’d arranged it using spare furniture from anywhere they could find it. The dull appearance of the office didn’t help calm him down, but he wasn’t in the right state of mind to start antagonizing his old teacher either, so he ended up gritting his teeth and allowing her to gently direct him towards one of the chairs sitting in front of the desk as she took position on the other side.

Draco looked distastefully at the pens and documents scattered in front of him, as if they were the major motive of his distress. He tried counting to ten in his mind, then to fifty. The count was at eighty-seven when the silence surrounding them was broken by the door being opened. He resisted the urge twirl and see the intruder with his own eyes. There was no need, really. He could _feel_ Potter scrambling awkwardly towards them and taking a seat next to him.

Shacklebolt entered his field of vision a few seconds later, and he placed himself on the sturdy chair in front of the desk, McGonagall standing at his side like a bodyguard. He dropped his elbows on the hard wood, then laced his fingers firmly in front of him.

Draco avoided his eyes. He was fairly sure he knew what was coming, and he couldn’t avoid cursing his luck. If this had only happened in a subtler way, he could’ve avoided the whole drama. It would have been so easy to ignore it and pretend it never happened. To move on with his life, marry his fiancé, have a decent life. With the Minister aware of it, not to mention half of the wizarding population of Britain, there was no escape.

“Now that we are all here,” Minister Shacklebolt spoke with a calmness that Draco truthfully resented, “we might as well go straight to the point of issue. Normally, this would be a matter for our Department of Marriage, Consorting, and Mating Ministrations to handle, but considering who both of you are, I have decided that the best course of action is for me to attend to this personally. Are both of you all right with my choice?”

And there it came, without even a warning. The reality settled into the very depths of Draco’s stomach like a cold breeze. It was making him feel sick.

He alternated his gaze from Draco to Potter, and back again, as if daring them to argue. Draco frowned, but remained silent. Convincing, or bribing, anyone else of forgetting about this absurd occurrence would have been a no-brainer. He knew that even attempting to argue would be futile in this case.

“Yes, sir.” He risked a glance at Potter, who had started speaking out of the blue, and was disgusted to find that the fucking idiot looked like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Didn’t he  _see_ what this meant? Or was he so confident in himself that he thought he could weasel himself out of this situation?

Shacklebolt sighed, somehow keeping his professional attitude intact, and continued his pseudo-speech. It didn’t seem like the Minister was too fond of this incidence, but his voice held steady and his body seemed to be preparing for any antagonism.

Draco’s queasiness worsened.

“You are already most likely aware of the proceedings that must be followed upon the discovery of a mate. I will explain it regardless, as the law forces me to make sure you understand fully what you are getting yourselves into.” Yes, of course. Because it was not as if all of this was what most of the tell-tales people narrated to their children before they even learned to walk made of. The theme had been celebrated since the beginning of magic, every wizard and witch was supposed to know at least one or two stories about crossed mates by the time they went to Hogwarts.

Sometimes Ministry proceedings could get really ridiculous, like those times when aurors needed a special permission to attend an emergency and showed up at the location once the danger had already passed and the chaos had been unleashed. This? This was just fruitless.

“For soulmate bonds to be established is of utmost importance for both the magical community and the people involved. Finding your mate is not only a great privilege, but it also brings the duty of strengthening the Wizarding World. It is the children born from soul-bonded people that keep our magic alive, as they bring pure, new magic into the world. In order to ensure that the magical community continues to prevail, the ministries from all over the world have decided to encourage the pairs that encountered each other to have a healthy, good relationship. It has been so for over a thousand years, and it has helped millions of couples to know themselves and bring powerful wizards and witches into the world.”

“Um, Minister?” Potter interrupted. He had his hand raised as if he were a student requesting permission to speak. Shacklebolt looked at him expectantly. “I do understand the principle of this, but I feel like continuing with it is pointless. I mean, even if we weren’t both straight, we are still both males. There is just no way a baby could come out of this.” He scratched his cheek for a second, as if looking for words,” can’t we just forget it happened? And anyway, I already have a girlfriend, and I heard that Malfoy’s engaged to someone, so…”

“You have spent half your life surrounded by Wizards, Potter, how can you be so obtuse that you actually _dare_ thinking about getting out of this?” Draco couldn’t help himself from spitting. Trust Potter to be a fucking ignorant, he never let down. If it weren’t for McGonagall and Shacklebolt being in the room he would’ve had no problem whatsoever putting him in his place for it. Seeing the circumstances, though, that would probably make the matters worse for him.

“Gentlemen, if you will,” Shacklebolt said. “I am sorry, Harry, this is not a matter of having or not someone already. I expect you to both terminate your relationships for the time being. If, and only if, the trial period ends and you have not completed your bond, you can restore them if you so wish. For now, you are to pack your belongings and decide upon a residence you will share for the next six months.”

“Shouldn’t we at least have a say in the matter?” Potter asked through gritted teeth. “It’s our lives that will suffer several consequences. The ministry shouldn’t have the power to decide what we should do with our personal lives!”

“What can’t you get through your thick skull, Potter?” Draco spat, unable to bite his tongue any longer. “Like it or not, we’ll be forced to suffer each other’s presence for a few moons.”

Potter turned to glare at him with a deadly expression on his face, “well, _excuse me_ for not wanting to live with a slimy git for six full months!”

“Oh, because Poor Scarface is always the victim! Trust me, I like this less than you do, but there is _nothing_ we can do to stop it!”

“But there is no point!” Potter, the stubborn bastard, continued complaining. “If the reason the Ministry wants this is because they want more soulmate couples, they should leave us alone! It’s not like we’ll _ever_ bond!”

“Boys!” McGonagall’s voice echoed through the room and it made Draco feel like he was a kid again, attending Hogwarts. At any given moment Severus would Apparate to their location and take points from Gryffindor. Which, thinking about it, would be a great way of making this day a tad manageable.

 “Could you cease this nonsense?” McGonagall continued, “you will share a house, and if Merlin helps us all, you will not murder each other in that time! Do I make myself clear?” She stared at them with scrutiny, as if they were vermin she was about to turn into chew toys.

Draco inhaled, swallowing every instinct that made him want to leave the room and move out to Alaska, perhaps, where this mess couldn’t reach him.

“I won’t do this,” Potter muttered, his voice increasing in decibels with each word. “This is nuts! I’m not moving in with _Malfoy_ of all people!”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Draco said, more than asked.” Did your eye disease spread to your brain and made you mentally blind too, Potter?” He spat. “It’s one of the biggest and most important laws of our community. Trust me, I don’t like this either. If it were for me, you could just go screw yourself and leave me the hell alone so I can live my bloody life in peace!”

“Mister Malfoy, there is no need for such crude language,” McGonagall interrupted.

“Indeed. But I am afraid, Harry, that it is relevant for you, seeing as the two of you are clearly destined to be mated.” Shacklebolt’s tone was patient still, as if explaining something of major importance to a child.

“Oh, come on! This is ridiculous! Can’t we just skip those six months? I told you that I already have a girlfriend. Not to mention that I’m not interested in mating _or_ men. It’s just unproductive!” And _now_ Potter was beginning to look a little bit flustered. Draco tried, and failed, not to feel a sliver of smugness because, compared to Potter, he was clearly handling this better.

“There is no way around it, Harry,” Shacklebolt repeated. “The penalty for ignoring the adjustment period is to spend those six months in Azkaban. It might sound harsh but I can’t, and _won’t_ , help you with finding a way around it.” He turned his face around and looked at McGonagall. They seemed to be having some sort of non-verbal conversation, but Draco couldn’t make out much of it because of the angle they were at. A few moments later, Shacklebolt was staring at them with a strange expression that he couldn’t really identify.

“In two days’ time, at five o’clock in the evening, I expect to receive a firecall from both of you where you will inform me of your location so I can complete the official documents. You may spend the next six months in any way you desire, however, you are not to miss a single night from your temporary home. This is final, gentlemen.”

“You…” Potter audibly cleared his throat. His face was getting redder by the second, and Draco could’ve sworn that he could hear his veins popping. “You want me to end a four years old relationship just because _Malfoy_ of all people happens to have the same tattoo I have?”

“Yes, mister Potter. That is exactly what we want you to do,” McGonagall said. She seemed saddened, for some reason. Probably because of the prospect of losing her favourite student to an ex-Death Eater, Draco thought.  And, why wouldn’t she? His reputation was not as bad as it used to be before the trials, or even after that. Father had made sure to do anything within his capability for them to come on top from the war. Regardless, they still weren’t the most loved family in the community, and he saw glimpses of that every time he ventured out.

It didn’t really matter, though. The next half a year would be just a limbo of sorts for him. By the end of it, their lives would go back to normal, and they wouldn’t have to see each other ever again. The law couldn’t force them to actually interact, only to share a home for some time. He had lived with far worse people before. Hell, he had shared the manor with _the_ fucking Dark Lord, he could definitely do this.

And he’d land on his feet, the Malfoy way, as it was supposed to be.

 

* * *

 

“Potter!”

The meeting had lasted a few more minutes, time that was spent with Potter making an arse out of himself. When he ended up storming out of the office in a furious haste, Draco cursed his luck once more, excused himself, and decided to follow him. They did have some matters to discourse, and he’d rather have them all solved that night so he wouldn’t need to waste even a moment of his two remaining days of freedom in the pest’s company.

“Potter!” He repeated, louder this time, and the mongrel finally seemed to decide to grace him with this attention.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” He asked almost immediately, in a tone so cold it could have frozen entire oceans. Too bad Draco wasn’t in the mood of exploiting it, it could have been fun seeing how much fury he could summon out of him.

“Calm your tits, would you?” Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m not exactly fond of talking to you either, but I’m even less fond of the idea of a vacation in Azkaban just because you can’t follow orders.”

“Listen, if you only stopped me to because you wanted to get on my nerves, I’m leaving. It’s bad enough that I’m forced to _live_ with you.”

“Not so fast, Potty,” Draco said just as Potter was beginning to walk again. “I was just getting to that. Patience is really not your strongest point, is it now?”

“Oh my God, _what?_ ”

“Your petty little glare might work with Weasel and Granger, it’s just annoying to me, so drop it.”

“Would you just go to the fucking point, Malfoy?” Potter brought both of his hands to his temples and rubbed at them. The fight in his voice wasn't completely done, but he did seem a little bit milder.

“Fine,” Draco spat. If this was how the next months were going to go, he was pretty sure he’d end up losing his damn mind by the time the period expired. The dementors were actually starting to look like a safer choice. “You can come drop your things on Saturday, but no sooner than ten o’clock in the morning. A house elf will probably be there to receive you.”

“Excuse me?” He said indignantly. Draco was about to complain about his deafness, but it seemed like Potter wasn’t done with his hundredth fit of the night. “Are you completely off your rocket? I’m _not_ moving in with your parents!”

“Well, that’s just too bad, because I am not living in a house full of Weasels. Aren’t you staying with them in that old little house?” Potter didn’t argue about that, “and even if I was somehow deluded into thinking it’s a good idea, what do you think the Ministry would think about you continuing to live with the Weaselette? I bet they’d have a blast!”

“Still better than living with Death Eaters!”

“Death Eaters that you contributed into letting roam freely, might I remind you.”

“This and that are completely different situations!”

“Well then, unless you have a better idea, the Manor is the best, and safest, location we have. So, illuminate me, Potter. _Do_ you have a better plan?

Potter frowned, but didn’t seem to find anything worth mentioning.

“Didn’t think so,” Draco said, satisfied. “Saturday, Potter. Wear your best.”

He didn’t even stay to see what Potter thought of his sarcastic suggestion, just walked towards the fireplaces. Before he could finish throwing the floo powder, he heard Potter yell “I’m _not_ moving to the fucking Malfoy Manor, you git!”

The good part of all of this madness was that he didn’t have to attend any more gatherings. Too bad that all the rest of it sucked.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Harry's POV, since I thought that I needed to insist a little on what's happening in his mind and how he's coping with all of this.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the response, you guys keep me going!
> 
> Also, the tags have been edited according to what happens in the chapter. I hope not too many of you are too unhappy with where this is going.
> 
> PS: There's some Hinny in this one. Nothing too scandalous, though. I haven't tagged it because it's not very relevant to the story.

“Hey, mate. You in there?” Ron’s voice came from the chimney, echoing through the room and shaking Harry from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, without bothering to get up from the bed, where he had been lazily laying for the last hour or so.

He hadn’t seen Ron since they’d been parted at the beginning of the New Year’s party. He knew that his friend would look for him as soon as his duties towards the Ministry would allow it. He was grateful to know that he had people worrying for him, but deep down, he just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts for a little longer.

“Can I come through?” Ron asked. He didn’t need to see his face to know that he was outraged, and probably a tad confused. After so many years of sharing a room in Hogwarts, and then a house when they finished school and Harry decided to move in with the Weasleys, he could read him better than he could understand himself sometimes. Of course, it really helped that Ron was usually an open book.

“Yeah,” he repeated absently.

Harry only stopped gazing at the ceiling once he heard Ron step away from the fireplace. One of the reasons he had avoided looking anywhere else before was because this had been his and Ginny’s room for two years now, and it held so many memories, good and bad, that the image of it made him _hurt_.

He had been a little disappointed when Ginny confessed that she wouldn’t be able to stay with him that New Year’s Eve, since her team was going to go to a training camp of sorts in Germany. She was supposed to come back in a few hours, actually, to spend the first days of the year with her family. He had been ecstatic to know that just a few hours earlier, but now the awareness of her impending arrival only filled him with sadness and anxiety.

Ron approached and sat on the bed, next to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Harry sighed. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Not that it mattered what he wanted, because just then Hermione flood in and trotted to them. Her neatly tied bun was somehow still intact after the trip, and she was dressed in a fitted blue suit. Not even her growing stomach was able to erase the power that was oozing from her.

She basically jumped on the other side of the bed in a flush of robes and threw herself at him.

“Oh, Harry…” she exclaimed, her brow furrowed in preoccupation, “I was so worried about you, this is so unfair!” Her grip was surprisingly strong and, if possible, grew even firmer for a moment. It was impressive for a woman in her fifth month of pregnancy. Then again, Hermione had never been one on the weak side, he didn’t really expect it to happen just because of her carrying a little extra weight. “I want you to know that we’re here for _whatever_ you need. Right, Ron?”

“Uh… yeah, sure we are!”

“Thanks, guys…” Harry answered them awkwardly. He was still thinking about what Hermione had said a moment earlier. Unfair was a pretty good word choice for what he thought about that night’s events. Remembering it was making his anger slowly resurface.

“You need to tell us _everything_ about what happened after you left!” she ordered. This time, with Harry’s furiousness partially back, he found the strength to narrate it, from the moment Malfoy entered the ballroom to their departure.

He had felt so betrayed by both Shacklebolt and McGonagall that it had been fairly difficult to keep his vision from going fully red. He had expected them to be opposed to the mating, to be on his side. Instead, they had practically menaced him with Azkaban if he refused to meet the Ministry’s conditions.

“It’s just ridiculous! They _know_ that hell would sooner freeze than Malfoy and I would get along!” he complained. Ron was nodding his head vigorously, Hermione just looked like she was lost in her thoughts. “And,” he continued, “Shacklebolt said that the Ministries do this because they want babies born from mated couples, what is _that_ about?”

“Well,” Hermione gestured towards her belly, “it _is_ a fact that the fertility percentage between soulmates is very high compared to unbounded couples.”

Harry gave her points for not being embarrassed by her own statement, as she would have been a few years before.

He spared a look at Ron now that he was free from Hermione’s clutches. No matter how enraged he was, the goofy smile that Ron was sporting whilst looking at his wife’s stomach was still incredibly endearing.

“I do know that, ‘Mione. And I understand why they do it,” he finally said.

“You do?” Ron asked, seemingly shocked by his retort.

“Yes. What I don’t get is why they force this upon people of the same sex. I tried to find a reason, but no matter how hard I think the conclusion is still the same: pointless!”

“Uh… mate?” Ron looked at Hermione, as if he was silently asking for her help.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, then turned to Harry.

“You know… After I found out about my pregnancy, I researched a bit about how mating influences the reproduction process.”

“A bit,” Ron snickered. “You spent the first month reading anything you could find about it!”

“Shush, Ron. This is important,” she admonished him. And oh, oh. Harry knew that look. It was the look she always wore when she was about to go into one of her lecture modes. Would it be too rude to ask them to leave now?

Before Harry could ponder too much into that idea, Hermione started speaking again.

“What I found was _fascinating_. Apparently, when two soulmates try to have a baby, the reproductive organs are sometimes infused with magic that enhances the success rate by _at least_ thirty percent. _Thirty percent,_ isn’t that amazing?”

“Maybe,” Harry said. He didn’t really care, actually. Judging by Hermione’s glare, it had probably showed in his intonation. “But why are you telling me this now? I mean, if it didn’t have much to do with me before, now it’s really…”

“Can’t you see it?” Hermione interrupted him,” this means it _does_ concern you!”

Harry frowned.

“I don’t plan on mating, _especially_ now that I know who I’m supposed to do it with. And even if I somehow went mental and decided to go along with it, Malfoy’s still a bloke.”

“Harry!” she hissed. One look at Ron’s face and bulky eyes told him that he wouldn’t like where this was going.” There have been cases where one of the people involved, or even _both_ of them, were completely infertile, and they _still_ had a child!” Hermione’s passion was proportionate with Harry’s increasing worry. “There were even a few cases in history when in a female and male mating, the female didn’t have the right organs anymore, and the magic _provided_ them.”

Harry paled. Now he was _sure_ that he didn’t like this little lecture from Hermione. His blood stopped circulating for a moment.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes!” she cheered, as if this was something to be celebrated.

“But… why haven’t I heard anything about this until now?” he dared to ask.” If… if it’s possible, why doesn’t anyone talk about it?”

“The subject does come up, occasionally. Same-sex couples aren’t exactly rare among our people, especially if they are the result of mating,” Hermione said. And Harry did know that much. Dean and Seamus popped into his mind. The only ones that seemed disturbed by their relationship, that he could recall, were a few of the ones that had grown up among muggles. That made sense to him if he remembered how lowly his uncles thought about anyone that wasn’t completely straight. He knew that not all muggles were like the Dursleys, thank God for that, but he was also aware that a huge amount of them frowned upon it. Harry had always been of the mentality that, as long as they didn’t hurt anyone, he didn’t really care what people did behind closed doors.

“The reason why we don’t see many pregnant wizards is probably because you guys tend to think that an expecting person is weak. As far as I know, most of them use glamours when they go outside.”

He felt a little ashamed of himself when he realized that Hermione’s statement was not so different from the way he had thought a few minutes earlier, when she had hugged him. But once he suppressed that feeling, her words started to get him back on track.

That meant that Kingsley and McGonagall _did_ have a legitimate reason for forcing them to do this. It meant that he really couldn’t escape spending six months under the same roof as Malfoy, as he had hoped.

He dropped his head heavily onto the bed’s headboard.

“Shite. What am I going to do now? I don’t want to break up with Ginny, but I can’t ignore a direct order from the Minister, either.”

He looked at his friends, as if desperately searching for an answer on their faces. This time, Ron was the one who spoke first, “it doesn’t have to be permanent!” he said while grabbing his shoulder. “You’ll get right back together once all of this is over!”

“And what if she moves on?” Harry couldn’t avoid thinking about the probability. What if she found someone else in the time they were apart? What if she simply realized that she was better off without him? A million questions like that drowned Harry’s mind. They’d had a pretty stable relationship for years now, but they were young. Ginny was young, and she could want to have more than one relationship before settling down. “She’s not exactly… required to stay with me. To wait for me. I haven’t even had the chance to…”

He remembered the little box in his hand, and looked at it. He had been fiddling with it a good portion of the time he had spent alone, but he had forgotten about it when his friends had barged in.

Hermione seemed to notice it first, as she squeaked excitedly and pointed at it with her finger.

“Oh my god! Harry!” She screeched, “is that what I think it is? When were you going to tell us?”

Harry frowned a little bit, then sighed. “I don’t know. I was going to give it to her tonight, but then she had to go with her team, and I… figured I could save it for her birthday, maybe,” he shrugged uncomfortably. “There’s no point anymore now, is it?”

“All you have to do is not have…” Ron swallowed. His face, somehow, was both green and red at the same time, making him almost look like the personification of a Christmas jumper. “Not… mate. Mate. Yeah. With Malfoy.”

Harry tried to get that disturbing image out of his head and focus on Ron’s struggle with words. It was pretty funny, all things considered.

“It shouldn’t be that hard! Then you can ask her!” his friend finished.

“It’s not that simple, Ron…” Hermione huffed, “while the discovery of your mate doesn’t alter your thoughts or actions, you _do_ feel the pull. You should _know_ this!”

“Well, yeah. But… it’s Malfoy!”

“Now that I think about it,” she ignored Ron to continue with the thread of her thoughts. He didn’t seem too annoyed, though. He was probably used to it by now. Merlin knew that when Hermione was up to something there was no stopping her from sharing her mind with them. “This explains a lot! You were horribly obsessed with Malfoy back in Hogwarts, weren’t you? Especially in sixth year!”

“That was because I knew he was up to something!” Harry explained indignantly. “And I was right! He got a bunch of Death Eaters into the school! He killed Dumbledore!”

“I’m not trying to defend Malfoy, but he didn’t really have a choice. And you know that he didn’t kill Dumbledore, Snape was the one who did. You saw it with your own eyes.”

“Well, he might as well could have! Maybe we wouldn’t have lost so many people if Snape hadn’t had to take charge of Malfoy’s job!”

“Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened, or make it easier for you to handle. We all had loses, some more than others. It would be incredibly disrespectful towards those who died so we could live on not to accept the reality,” she said. Her voice was embedded with sadness, so much that Harry had to look away from her for a moment.

He knew that Hermione had a point. About everything she said. He knew, deep down, that Malfoy had been as much of a victim as himself had been. It was why he had testified in the Malfoys’ favour. He had _seen_ the struggle Malfoy had went through in sixth year, even if he had acted horribly about it.

Then he remembered the bathroom, and had to close his eyes in order to somewhat control the bile that rose in his throat. All of that blood, he could still see it as well as he could hear Malfoy’s cries, and the sound of water gushing from the broken sinks. Sometimes he had nightmares about it. And about the war in general. About Remus and Tonks, Sirius, about Fred and all of the people that had lost their lives because of the war. So they could live, and win the final battle, and have a normal, happy life.

The knowledge of Malfoy’s innocence didn’t make the pain go away. If anything, it only made it worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Instead, he had found himself remembering every fragment of his existence up to that point. Saying his life had been hard would be a euphemism, but he did consider himself lucky for having so many people that loved him in spite, and because of his flaws, nowadays. It was a luxury that he hadn’t had while growing up.

He wasn’t sure what hour it was when he heard the bedroom’s door being opened, but he could guess that it was fairly early, since the sun hadn’t even begun to rise yet. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, and listened to the familiar sounds of Ginny sorting through her luggage, and probably changing into something more comfortable.

A few minutes after, he felt her getting into the bed. She snuggled close to him and kissed his shoulder. Harry tried not to shy away from it, and hated himself for even having to do it.

His breath, though, must have flinched a little, because the next thing he knew was that she was caressing his cheek.

It hurt.

“I know you are awake,” she murmured calmly. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

He couldn’t talk just yet, but he took his time to examine her face thoroughly, as if he was unconsciously aware that this might be one of the last times he would have the chance to spend time with her like this.

But he was running out of time. In a little, the rest of the Weasleys would probably wake up, and his chance would be gone.

He was expecting the newspapers to have a blast that day, and he couldn’t allow Ginny to find out about what transpired at the Ministry because of Skeeter or any of the other reporters. He knew that it was then or never, and still, the words were stuck in his throat.

“Harry? Is something wrong?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. Ginny started to brush his hair with her fingers and he needed to close his eyes hard to control the flutter of emotions from devastating him.

“Something…” his mouth was dry, he tried licking his lips in search of some moisture, regardless of the ineffectiveness of it, “something happened tonight, at the party.”

“What? Is everybody okay? Are _you_ okay?”

“No! Nothing like that! It’s just.” He gulped.

“Hey…” Ginny laid her head on his chest. She knew how hard words were for him sometimes. How bad he could be with them. She always avoided looking at him when he was hurting, tried to soothe him in other ways, make it easier for him to express himself. Things like that were some of the best aspects of their relationship. They understood each other, knew each other almost to perfection.

Harry took a few more shaky breaths.

“I… you know that I really care about you, right?” he asked.

“Harry, you are starting to scare me… Of course I know!”

“If I could have it my way, I’d like for us to always be together, “he paused for a second, aware of how bad this was going. He tried to sort his thoughts out, because he really didn’t want to hurt Ginny more than he had to, “but today… I was giving the speech that we prepared, and. And all of a sudden, my Mark was throbbing.”

She raised her head and stared at him in shock, “have you…?”

“… Yeah, I think so.”

“Who?”

Harry shot his eyes once more. He really couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” she repeated, like she was having trouble believing her ears, “that means…”

“I tried to get out of it, I really did. But Kingsley and McGonagall were having none of it, and I just…”

“Harry, there is no way of avoiding something like this,” her voice broke at the end of her sentence, making Harry hate himself for it, “when?

“This Saturday.”

“Saturday, okay.”

“Ginny?”

“I’m okay,” she gave him a small smile, nowhere close to the ones he was used to. His heart sank a little more.

“Are you?”

“Yes. I actually expected something like this to happen.”

“What?” had Ginny been preparing herself for the day he would find his soulmate since she noticed that his Mark hadn’t disappeared by his last birthday? No, that made no sense. They had talked about it a few times, and both of them had decided to take Molly and Arthur as an example to follow. You didn’t need a soulmate in order to be happy, they were the living proof of that.

“Harry, let’s face it. We need a break. We have for a while,“ she grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “The way we are right now… we’re not much of a couple anymore, don’t you think?”

He felt like the floor had been pulled from under his feet.

“What do you mean?” Harry managed to force out.

“Haven’t you noticed? Apart from a few kisses, when was the last time we even considered making love? Or went out on a date, just the two of us?”

“I thought you were busy, you are always so tired from training when you come home… I didn’t want to take time away from your rest.”

“Yes, that crossed my mind as well, but… would that have stopped us before? Tiredness?”

Harry thought about it. He remembered how often they used to sneak out from the others, just to find some time alone. How passionate, and happy they were to be in each other’s company.

It really wouldn’t have.

“I wanted to think that it… that it was because we grew up, because we’re not two horny teenagers anymore. And then I looked at Ron and Hermione, or Bill and Fleur, or any of our friends, and… and I realized that it was only happening to us,” she explained.

“Were you going to break up with me?” he couldn’t ward off the question, no matter how hard he tried.

And how could things have gone so bad? Just the day before he had thought that they were a perfect, happy couple.

“Gods, no! Harry! I was going to talk to you about it so we could figure a solution, breaking up _never_ crossed my mind!”

“Okay. That’s… good,” at least he thought it was. His mind was a complete mess.

“Maybe a few months without seeing each other in that way will actually benefit our relationship. Maybe it will be good for us.”

He remembered the box, and jumped from the bed, leaving Ginny alone in the bed. It was in one of the desk’s drawers, where he had put it a few hours before, after Ron and Hermione had left. He retrieved it.

“Harry?”

“I was going to give this to you on your birthday,” he said as he made his way back to the bed. “I don’t know how exactly, but I wanted it to be something special.”

“Harry…”

“But,” he swallowed” I won’t be able to, anymore. Not this year. So instead of it being an engagement ring, I want it to be a way to remember that, one day, I _will_ ask you for real.”

He felt Ginny’s hug before he could sense it, and hugged back fiercely. As he did, he thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast time had Harry painfully aware of just how much he loved the Weasleys. At the table, everybody was congratulating each other for the new year, chatting, and laughing, and joking like everything was normal. Like everything was _fine._ Not even one newspaper was anywhere to be seen, and he knew that all of them were making an effort for him, that they wanted him to know that no matter what, he would still have a family with them.

Halfway through, though, Ron, who had slept in, burst into the kitchen and made his way to his seat. Nobody payed much attention to it apart from the customary greetings, they did have a long night and it wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for Ron to enjoy sleeping until noon in his free days.

And then Ron opened his mouth, his voice still heavy from sleep.

“Did you figure out where you’re going to live?” he asked Harry.

Everybody grunted.

But it was all right. He knew Ron, and because of that he also knew that he had the best intentions in mind. Even if his timing sucked most of the time.

“Malfoy wants me to move to the Manor,” he said as he was about to cram a forkful of meat into his mouth, “there’s no way that’s happening, so I told him to stuff it. Other than that, I’ve no idea.”

The Weasleys seemed to agree, some with more ardour than others.

“Harry, dear, have you maybe considered Sirius’ house?” Molly, who had been piling everybody’s plates with mashed potatoes, asked.

Harry beamed.

“You’re brilliant!” And she really was. How could he have forgotten about Grimmauld Place? It was perfect! He just had to get rid of the house elves’ heads, and a few other bizarre items, but it was his, and it was large enough so he wouldn’t have to be forced to see Malfoy’s pointy face more than he was required to.

And then he remembered that Kreacher had been working at Hogwarts for a few years, and therefore the house was probably a horrific mess. His enthusiasm flew away when he realized just how many days it would take for him to clean it up, there was just no way he could move there by Saturday, and he doubted very much that Malfoy would throw him a helping hand.

“But won’t it be too dirty for them to live there so soon?” Hermione asked, practically reading his mind.

Molly clasped her hands, her huge smile never faltering, “then it’s decided!” she exclaimed. “We’ll just have to go tomorrow and sort it out! It shouldn’t take more than a day if we all work on it!”

The collective grunt, this time, came from everyone but Molly and Harry.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all for the wonderful response! 
> 
> This chapter, we're back to Draco's POV. It could be said that this is kind of the last introductory one, I guess, because from next chapter on they will actually have to live together.
> 
> I will try updating at least once a week, because my schedule is pretty chaotic lately and I doubt managing more than that. Also, English is not my first language, and I am writing and betaing on my own, so please do inform me if there's anything that doesn't quite fit!

Draco woke up with his head pounding. He began wondering if he’d had anything to drink the night before just as his brain started to get out of its slumber and the memories flooded back to him all at once, worsening his headache tenfold.

Potter was his soulmate. Right.

Fucking hell.

The Manor had been empty when he had gotten back the night before, his parents had been fortunately attending one of Father’s mandatory New Year’s balls. Upon his arrival, it had been a great relief, and he had dived straight into his chambers after making sure that they hadn’t returned sooner than usual.

He had drowned a couple of glasses of firewhiskey without much thought, its characteristic burn on his throat had served as a distraction. The alcohol had allowed his brain to relax as well, and he had passed out a little while after.

A quick look at the clock told him that it was almost on the eight, which meant that he had just enough time for a shower before needing to join his family for breakfast.

Draco threw the duvet aside and got out of the bed, flinching when his bare feet touched the cold floor, and headed directly to the bathroom. Luckily, he hadn’t drunk enough for him to be hung over, so apart from his throbbing head, for which he had already taken a potion immediately after reaching his cabinet, his morning routine went flawlessly.

He found both of his parents already on their seats. The plates were still empty, which clued him that they had been waiting for Draco before starting the meal. He didn’t have the chance to sit down before Father’s voice echoed heavily through the room.

“I have been informed that you came back early last night,” he said, his expression unreadable even for Draco, “care to explain why?”

“Father, Mother, good morning,” Draco said, pulling his chair back. A question did not excuse him from manners, it was a lecture he had learned before he even had gotten a practice wand, “I finished my duties early, which is why I decided to head back sooner than planned.”

“I see,” Father picked up a newspaper that Draco had failed to notice before. He opened it on the very first page, and proceeded to read its contents out loud. “ _The boy who lived, destined to a former Death Eater? A shocking revealing that is breaking the hearts of hundreds of witches and wizards. Read everything about it in the following pages._ ”

“Lucius, I think that is enough to get the point across,” Mother said, laying a hand on his father’s wrist.

“Perhaps. What have you got to say about this, Draco?” he asked, giving the offending item to a house elf with a grimace.

Draco wanted to sigh, but he couldn’t in front of Lucius, so he squared his shoulders and blinked, carefully picking up his next words.

“I’m sure it is of little importance,” he finally said, “I am going to follow the law, of course, but I do not intend to have this mating consummated. It shall all end in six moons, and, if the Greengrasses continue considering me worthy, I will follow our original plans.”

“You will do no such thing,” Father said, and Draco inevitably tensed up.

He took a deep breath, and waited for the words he had been dreading since the moment he found out who his soulmate was. If he knew his own father, he could guess what he wanted from him. And he did not like it one bit.

“This is a great opportunity for our family’s prestige. We have lost quite a few of our supporters once the war ended, whilst the Potter boy only keeps gaining them,” he continued, unconcerned of Draco’s own decisions. “You are to make everything in your power to forge a mating connection between the two of you. That is a direct order from your family head.”

Draco shut his eyes for a second, then opened them and looked at his father straight in the eye. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Now that we have that out of the way, we shall begin our breakfast.”

Food appeared on the table, from eggs and toast, to more complex dishes, but Draco had lost his appetite. As he was forcing himself to get at least something in his empty stomach, he began thinking about his options.

No matter how much of an influence Father had always been in his life, he had learned something in the days leading to his trial after the war: important decisions regarding his own future were to be made by him, and him alone.

However, Father didn’t need to know that.

Such a pity that Potter would be so unmoved by his advances and the bond wouldn’t be forged because of it.

He was _not_ going to mate with Potter, no matter what his father ordered him to do. He would just have to accept the consequences later, whatever they were going to be.

The rest of their morning meal passed in silence. It wasn’t a bad sign, really. Most of their table time was spent quietly, unless they had guests or something particularly urgent to discuss.

Draco managed to get a piece of buttered toast and a cup of tea down with a little struggle, it wouldn’t do for him to appear uncomfortable right now. He slowly took one last sip, then deposited the teacup on its plate.

“I am afraid I need to excuse myself, there are some matters that need to be taken care of before my departure,” he said.

Once he made sure that nobody would be trying to slow him down, Draco returned to his rooms, his steps steady and confident, just the opposite of what he was actually feeling.

His mind was an absolute cluster of negativity, his emotions weren’t sure where to settle, they didn’t know what to focus on. There were so many things that needed to be analysed, so much happening that he figured that the best way of conserving his sanity was by shutting it all down and dealing with his problems as they came to him.

That was exactly why, a few hours later, he was sprawled laggardly on his favourite armchair, a warm mug of hot chocolate in his right hand, his other one carefully holding one of his favourite books, whose pages looked tattered and abused from the sheer amount of times Draco had read it before. It never failed to send him to its world, though. It made him forget about his own existence every time he marvelled at its words. It was precisely what he needed in that moment.

“Master Draco,” a little voice interrupted his distraction. He sighed, wondering what was that he needed to do for a few continuous hours of quiet in this house.

He tore his eyes from the book and found himself looking at one of his family’s house elves. He raised an eyebrow at it questioningly.

“Wonky is being profusely sorry for disturbing Young Master, sir,” the elf said, “but Master Draco is being summoned at the tearoom.”

“Who?”

“Wonky is not knowing, sir. Wonky was being asked by Master Lucius. Sir said that Wonky is to inform Master Draco that a firecall is being asking for him.” Its eyes were bulgy, as if afraid of immediate chastisement. It was really laughable, considering that Draco hadn’t done such thing since he was about thirteen.

“All right, you can go now,” he ordered, setting aside his book and his mug with a sigh. The elf evaporated from sight with a thankful bow.

He wanted to ignore the firecall, but father did have the bad habit of interrogating his friends every time he had the chance to. And, Merlin forbid, if it was Blaise, Draco could be in a lot of trouble if he let them be alone for too much time.

The tearoom’s doors were widely open, allowing the voices to be carried through a large portion of the hall, He listened avidly on his way to it.

“–a pitiful reason, Potter, teenage liaisons can only carry on for so long,” he heard Father say. Oh, fuck. He didn’t think that he would actually open that particular can of worms so soon.

And why the hell was Potter firecalling him, anyway?

“I think you should stick to your pointy family affairs and get your nose out of mine before–”

“Oh? But this _is_ my family’s affair, Potter. It will be for another six months, at the minimum.”

Merlin’s saggy tits, what was his father trying to accomplish?

He sped up. He needed to put an end to that ridiculous conversation before matters really started to go downhill.

“Look–”

“Father, I see you have entertained Potter for me,” Draco said from the doorway, putting a halt to whatever Potter had been about to blurt.

“I did. We shall continue this little chitchat of ours at a later time,” Father said.

“No, we won’t,” Potter glared. Somehow, his eyes seemed even more intense through the green flames. His voice, though, was embedded in hostility. He was probably regretting very much so no having sent a letter instead of this.

Father didn’t stick around after that, thank the heavens, and a moment later he found himself alone with his former school rival for the second time in less that twenty-four hours. Brilliant.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, instead of a proper greeting.

“Potter,” he replied with a frown, which quickly turned into a sardonic smirk, “missed me already? How touching.”

“In your wildest fantasies,” he answered moodily.

“That’s nightmare material right there, Potty. Top notch. And as much as I enjoy having my day ruined by your ugly mug, you must have reasons other than small talk for your firecall,” he said, now that the present conversation seemed to have been somewhat forgotten and he didn’t think that the mating would be mentioned again.

“I would’ve gotten to that right away if you didn’t start making your radiant commentary,” Potter grimaced. Draco raised an eyebrow, which seemed to clue Potter to the fact that he was not taking the bait this time. With a sigh, he continued, “look. I told you that I was going to come up with a better… residence for us, and announce you once I did.”

“Oh?”

“I found a place.”

“You _found_ a place? Please tell me that you didn’t just stumble upon some ungodly location, pointed at it with your ugly finger, and just decided to try and force me upon it, because–”

“Actually,” Potter interrupted. He had a conceited look on his face that Draco wanted to wipe away, “it’s been mine for a few years now, I just forgot about it.”

“You own a house, which you _forgot about_ in favour of living in a little dollhouse among who knows how many ginger heads? Oh, classic Scarhead.”

“Will you shut up already and let me talk? Believe me or not, I don’t exactly enjoy having to talk to you, either,” Potter frowned.

“My, poor you. Always the victim, aren’t you?” Draco mocked. He was going to torment him a little more, but Potter sent him a deadly glare, and he promptly decided that it wasn’t worth it. “Fine, shoot away.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “My godfather left me his childhood house when he…” he swallowed heavily, “passed away,” he finished with a wince.

“Your godfather? You mean Black?”

“Yeah.”

Draco contemplated the idea. The Blacks were old blood, and his relatives on top of that. Sirius Black had actually been his mother’s cousin. The guy had been a disgrace to the Black family name, but if it was the house that he had spent his childhood in, it must’ve meant that it was up to pure-blooded status.

Not that he cared about those things, anymore. Regardless, it meant a certain level of comfort that he was accustomed to.

He had planned to move out of the Malfoy Manor since the war had ended, the place just held so many bad memories, and so much dark magic residue that he sometimes felt like he was choking on it.

A Black family house had to be close to what his home used to be, before all went wrong and some dunderheads, his father included, decided that it would be a good idea to bring a lunatic back from the dead. Hopefully, the bastard would be burning in hell as they spoke.

“I see,” he said, not letting anything show on his face.

“So?”

“So, we shall see it this Saturday, and if it’s not to my liking, we will be going back to the original plan.”

“Like hell we will,” Potter spit. “You wanted an alternative? Here you have it, now suck it up, because I’m _never_ going to move in with a bunch of ex-Death Eaters. One is bad enough. Good day, Malfoy.”

Did he just…? Did he just close the connection in his face?

Draco frowned. Trust Potter to find a way to surpass his own rudeness.

Truth be told, he thought as he got up and headed back to his chambers, the idea of having Father and Potter under the same roof was something that he wanted to avoid. He suspected that it would’ve been a prime motive for headaches, for him as well as Mother, perhaps. And that was the happiest outcome.

He would never inform Potter of that, though. The bastard was already smug enough.

The prospect of living somewhere else, albeit only for half a year, was beginning to be more and more attractive as he continued thinking about it.

The bad part was that he would be in the obligation of having Potter as his roommate.

 

* * *

 

 If there was something that Draco had dreaded almost as much as talking to Father about Potter being his soulmate, it was definitely having the same conversation with his friends, who would undoubtedly use it as tease material.

Bitter still about Draco’s little curse on his pants the previous night, Blaise didn’t disappoint when he showed up a few hours after Potter’s firecall, and he made sure to let him know that the matter would not be forgotten. Ever.

Pansy, the insufferable cow, would not stop making remarks that left sickening images in Draco’s head. She almost related to him, from beginning to end, how he would shag Potter, “or be shagged, darling. No judging here!”

She only stopped once Draco directed a stinging hex to her rear end.

The very next morning, Astoria showed up in his room. The conversation he had with her, on the other hand, left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Not because of any romantic feelings that they could have harvested together between them, Astoria had become almost as good a friend to him as Pansy or Blaise.

For some reason, she was encouraging him to give this absurd mating a shot, insisting upon the fact that Potter, unlike her, actually had the right bits and was fairly attractive once you got past all of that horrible hair, like that was one of the key factors in this. Were it anybody else, she would be right. What she was forgetting was that, well, he has _Potter_. Saint Potter, who liked to run about playing hero, and had made a fool out of Draco on multiple occasions. He did remind her about that little detail, but she smiled at him, gave his hand a squeeze, and changed the subject without adding anything else about the previous topic.

He was still wondering about it that evening, when his potion-making session was cut by an owl that almost landed on his cauldron. Sometimes he wondered why they had house elves at all, if they were incapable of even stopping the damned things from disrupting the Manor.

It was a letter from Theo, who was on vacation in Russia with his family and had apparently heard the ‘big news’. Who gave permission to the bloody reporters to make his life available to the entirety of the magical world was to anyone’s guessing. He decided to blame Potter, as it was the easiest person to charge it to, and proceeded to read the rest of the letter. Nothing new there, apart from Theo’s fascination with muggle Moscow.

A second owl flew into his lab. This time, he managed to catch it mid-air before it crashed into his ingredients stack and achieved the complete ruination of his working place. Making a feathery grill out of itself in the process too, probably.

It was the ugliest own he had ever seen, its grey and white colouring so unrefined that he had absolutely no doubt which family it belonged to. It was stupidly small as well, and attached to its foot was an equally petite piece of parchment, which he proceeded to untangle.

“Ow! You little…”

The little bugger bit him when he snatched the paper. If it weren’t for the fact that it had the mind to fly away immediately after that, slamming into the wall a couple of times in the process of getting out, Draco would have taken the owl cooking matters into his own abused hands.

Rubbing at the almost insignificant but achy wound the creature had left behind from time to time, Draco unrolled the parchment and read its contents. Scribbled in small, inelegant handwriting was a single phrase:

_Meet me at The Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at 10 o’clock. The house has a Fidelius Charm on it. HP._

* * *

 

He spent the rest of Friday holed up in his room, avoiding his parents like an angst prone teenager. Before he could prepare himself for it, Saturday was upon him.

The same rule that he had Friday evening held for most of the morning, too, as he had woken up earlier than intended. Spending the little time he had left curled up in his bed pretending that the outside world didn’t exist seemed like the best idea he had ever had.

Once again, he couldn’t continue it for long, though, because he did have to get breakfast with Mother for the last time in who knew how long. Luckily, his father had a business meeting that morning, so he didn’t have to deal with him, and the only disturbance to his meal was when mother told him to be careful and to visit sometimes. It made it feel too real, and he felt like he was a criminal preparing for slaughter.

A while later, as he was putting on his winter coat, a house elf popped up with his shrunk luggage, which he promptly secured in his pocket. The house elves couldn’t transport it for him because of the secrecy spell, so this would have to make do.

After doublechecking that his possessions wouldn’t fall out, he Disapparated to Diagon Alley.

The streets were crowded, as usual on a weekend, when most people were free from work and took profit of it by doing shopping trips and eating at restaurants.

Draco made his way through the dense crowd, careful not to slip on the thin ice that decorated the floor, and headed straight to The Leaky Cauldron, which was no less full than the rest of the alley. Fortunately, he found an empty table for two somewhat excluded of prying eyes, and sat on one of the chairs right away.

He had arrived with five minutes to spare, and Potter was nowhere to be seen. He stumbled out of the pub’s fireplace about a quarter of an hour after Draco, and began looking about until he noticed his glare, at which point he approached the table and sat heavily on the seat across from him.

“Didn’t your precious Weasels teach you that is customary to be at least punctual when meeting with someone, Potter?” he said, pissed off at the prospect of Potter having him waiting like an idiot.

Potter didn’t say anything, just gave him what Draco supposed meant to be a gloomy look, but looked more like he was constipated.

Upon closer inspection, Draco noticed the bad state his interlocutor was in. Potter had ginormous bags under his eyes that gave him a lunatic appearance, his hair was even messier than usual, as if he had spent a good amount of time rubbing at it with vigour, and his face was the paler he had ever seen it. In short, he looked like he hadn’t slept for a few days.

Draco gasped unbelievably.

“Do you _want_ to put us both in prison because of your inability of keeping it in your pants, Potter?” he spat, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

“Shut up. I’m way too tired to be dealing with your crap, Malfoy,” Potter answered while rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses.

“Well, you wouldn’t be if you actually atoned to the rules, now would you?”

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was –probably an insult, judging by his unpleased expression–, it was cut short when a waitress stopped by her table.

“Hello, can I get you some… thing?”

The short pause made Draco divert his eyes from Potter and look at her. She was gaping, so she probably just realized who his companion was. To her credit, she did recover fairly quickly. A smile replaced the open mouth and wide eyes in a heartbeat.

“Just a coffee, please. Black,” Potter said politely. Draco grimaced.

“Did you get everything?” Potter asked him once the waitress had disappeared from sight.

Draco calmly took another sip from his tea, then grabbed a small bite from his chocolate pastry. Potter tapped his fingers on the table and Draco smirked, starting to move even slower, deliberately intending to make Potter lose the little patience he seemed to still have.

“I did,” he finally said, almost a minute later, and only once he had finished chewing thoroughly his treat and swallowed it. “And it’s not like I can’t go back if the house elves have forgotten to pack something.”

Although he hoped they didn’t, otherwise he would risk ending up face to face with another round of questions and orders from his father. He’d had enough of those in the last two days, thank you very much.

He had to admit that he was impressed by the speed the personnel in this place had, if not anything else. The waitress came back, smile still in place, and positioned a cup of what smelled strongly of freshly brewed coffee before Potter.

“Thank you,” Potter directed a small smile at her. She returned the favour, made sure that they didn’t want anything else, then went her marry way. Literally. There was even a small jump to her step that he was sure didn’t exist before.

“Good gracious,” Draco almost murmured in disbelief, “how can some people have such a bad taste?”

The thought of awkward, sarcastic Potter being popular with the ladies seemed so absurd that he almost cracked a laugh. Especially in that moment, with Potter looking like a horrible, sleep deprived mess.

Speaking of horrid messes, what in the _world_ was Potter wearing?

He had on some old, whitewashed muggle jeans that Draco was sure had seen better days, an oversized _yellow_ jumper that made him look like a bad impersonation of a lemon that was doing absolutely no favour to his complexion, and he thought he remembered seeing his shoes before he sat down. They were white and blue, with some kind of laces keeping them together, and must have been made of some sort of rubber and cloth. Probably muggle, too.

Potter took a sip from his coffee and moaned, closing his eyes tight, like he’d just fount the ultimate source of his life. Draco sneered, completely disgusted.

“Can’t you have some sense of decency? Or do you like having people staring at you that much?”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Potter replied, not even taking the cup away from before his mouth, “I just happen to like coffee, that’s all.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He slightly tilted his head to the right. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise, actually. An inelegant drink for an uncut slob.”

Potter snickered.

“Like your poncey tea and pastries are any better.”

“How dare you,” he feigned indignancy, “I’ll let you know that tea is an Englishman’s first and most important love.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll just stick to what I actually like, thanks.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes after that, while they finished their drinks. To Draco’s surprise, Potter seemed to wake up a little with every sip of his coffee. He still looked undead, but it was a slightly more energic one.

Once finished, they each payed for their consummation and ventured outside. The cold breeze hit his face at once, cutting his breath for a hot moment and making his nose sting.

They didn’t even manage to fully close the door behind them and people were already staring. Lovely.

Potter made it worse by almost stabbing him in the stomach with his sharp elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco glared at him, wondering if Potter’s head would start to sprout a hole if he did it for long enough.

“Apparating you,” Potter said, like it was obvious. “If you want to stay here all day being stared at, be my guest, but I actually want to go now.”

“And why exactly do I have to be transported by you?” he glared.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of the Fidelius? I would _love_ to let you find the house by yourself, but something tells me that Shacklebolt wouldn’t be too pleased if you disappeared for the rest of your life.”

“Very funny, Potter. Can’t you just tell me the location? I can Apparate there on my own well enough,” he did not want to end up split because of Potter’s incompetency.

“Will you just stop being such an insufferable git and hold on to my arm or something?”

A noise distracted him from Potter’s intense stare, and he was horrified to see that their little audience had multiplied ridiculously. Fucking rabbits.

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden burning on his shoulder, and he yelped before he even realized what was happening. He thought he heard Potter making some kind of noise, too, but before he could dwell too much into it, his world was swirling. The next thing he knew was that they were in some kind of muggle street.

He pushed Potter’s hand away from his arm brutally as soon as he made sure that all of his limbs were still attached to his body, then he took a couple of steps away.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Potter? You could have split me into dozens of pieces!”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Draco mumbled something about reckless Griffindors. Not even he was sure of what he said exactly, because his attention was mostly directed towards his surroundings.

The direct contrast to Diagon Alley hit him immediately. The street was completely deserted except for them and one or two stray cats, it seemed like a tremendously quiet neighbourhood, and he had a disconcerting feeling that he had been there before, maybe a long time ago, but he figured that it must’ve had something to do with the Fidelius charm.

What really puzzled him, though, was the fact that there was absolutely no sign of a possible Black residence to be seen, or even anything to indicate the magical community.

“Are you sure that you haven’t got the location wrong?”

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” Potter told him as he stepped forward.

To his surprise, the houses started to part and one tall building that looked exactly the same as the other ones appeared from nothingness. On the plate, he could read what Potter just said, in elegant letters, and the Black family crest stood proudly on display above the words.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

Draco could see that now.


	5. Chapter Five

Guided by Potter, he entered Number Twelve, Grimmauld place.

He almost missed the soft hum of the wards adjusting to his presence and welcoming him. They were surprisingly gentle for the amount of strength he felt that they had.

If anything, they were obviously safe within them.

He was struck with memories a scarce moment after setting foot in the principal entrance. The feeling of familiarity came back twice as strong, almost knocking him down with the information that was being returned to his brain. He recollected a few snippets from his childhood, when his mother used to force him to visit his great-aunt Walburga, from when he couldn’t have been more than four years old.

He actually started to regret having accepted the house as their place of residence once he remembered the gloominess with which it had always managed to frighten him as a child. He was not about to acknowledge that to Potter, though, and give him more ammunition with which he could screw with him than he already had, so he swallowed his dread and followed him through the dimly lit hallway, eyeing one particular portrait that was covered for some reason with suspicion.

A flick of Potter’s hand brought the candles scattered all over the house back to life, but before he could ponder the slight feeling of impression Potter’s display of wandless magic gave him, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the horribly ugly wallpaper that he knew to have been on all of the house’s walls, in different variations and colours, were now gone, replaced with immaculate white. Good riddance.

“Why do the walls look like they belong in a private research laboratory of some sorts?” he asked.

“Didn’t even think that you _knew_ what those even are,” Potter replied, without even deigning to look at him.

Draco refused to feel flustered by Potter’s comment. He had warmed up quite a bit to muggle culture in the past few years, soaking up every piece of information he could find about their customs and curious artefacts. It had felt like a whole new world was being presented before him, and his thirst of knowledge made him want to know everything about it. It was fascinating, the muggle world. So much different from their own despite it having been around for as long as wizards themselves.

“Not the point,” Draco complained,” are you answering my question or not?”

“Not,” Potter smirked. Draco tried to contain the urge to hex his head off.

Potter did earn himself a glare for his trouble, though.

“You know, if we are going to have to be –” he paused, refusing to say ‘housemates’ or any variation of the taboo word, “sharing this place for such a long time, you will need to stop being such a self-sufficient prat.”

“Only when you stop being an insufferable arsehole.”

Draco huffed. He took a few steps forward, leaving Potter behind him and taking the lead as if he already knew where they were going, all the time being extremely careful not to bump into Potter in absolutely any way.

“So, where are the rooms?” he asked absently.

“You mean where is _your_ room.”

“No, Potter. _The_ rooms,” he countered, looking at him with the intention of letting him know just how stupid he thought he was. “I fully intend picking my own.”

Potter snorted.

“I’ll take Sirius’ old room, you can do whatever you want with the other ones. Suit yourself,” he said, picking up speed and leaving Draco behind him once more, presumably in order to go to said room and brood, or whatever it was that Potter did when he was alone. Worked for him either way.

He wandered around the house for some time, exploring all of its rooms in pursue or one he could claim. He noticed that, effectively, every single one of the walls were the exact same shade of white as the other ones. They were making his eyes hurt, especially in combination with the bright candle light.

Even worse, there were no house elves to be seen anywhere. How did Potter intend to keep the place clean, or for them to even be able to live here if there was nobody that could cook for them?

He speculated the idea of just bring one of his family’s elves, but then he remembered that Potter was Granger’s friend, of all people, and something told him that she would barge in to mount a ruckus the moment she found out about it. It was not worth the trouble, so he supposed he would just have to eat out every day. And possibly build a personal supply of apples.

It took some time, but he managed to find a room that was appealing enough. It was not the largest one, not by far, but it did have the best positioning and lighting among the place.

He stuck his hand into his coat’s pocket, retrieving his possessions and depositing them on the stripped bed. He returned them to their original sizes, and decided to start sorting them out.

A couple of minutes into his task, he found a letter hidden between his shirts. He recognized the paper and general shaping of it immediately.

Mother.

He opened it, curious but careful not to damage the envelope. The content was fairly short compared to what he was used to receiving from her, but it made sense considering that he had last seen her that very day.

He proceeded to read her small, delicate handwriting.

 

_Dear son,_

_I know fully well that the fastest path to enter your mind has always been though written text, it has been so from the very moment you first picked a book, so many years ago, so I decided to compose a letter in which I can show you a slight glance into the thoughts that have been meandering my mind in the past few days._

_Sometimes it is difficult to me, as a mother, to accept that you are not the sweet little boy that you once were. The world is cruel, and it has made you grow up so fast that it is almost hard to grasp, but I am proud to see that you have learned to be a better man than we deserve, especially considering the bad decisions your father and I have made in the past that have influenced your life greatly._

_Please leave your father to me. He is a great man, but weak to temptations. He is once again blinded by greed, and has a hunger of power that he cannot soothe by his own devices anymore. Do not preoccupy yourself with what he asked of you, I will make sure he sees reason. You shall only worry about what your heart is speaking to you, for it is time you learn to listen to it as you should have done for years._

_Whatever path you choose to follow, know that it will be one that I accept as long as it makes you happy._

_Love,_

_Mother._

_PS: As customary, there is a box of chocolates waiting for you in your luggage._

 

He folded the letter quietly, feeling the corners of his eyes pricking. He would have done absolutely anything a few years ago to hear from his parents what he just read, especially when the Dark Lord had started living under their roof and all Draco had wanted had been to take his family and fly somewhere where the cruelty he had felt first-hand couldn’t reach them or, at the very least, to join his classmates in the fight against him because, ever since his eyes had been opened to the reality of the war, he had wanted him to go down.

The letter from Mother managed to awake all sorts of repressed feelings in him, but the one that filled him the most was, undoubtedly, an oppressing nostalgia that reminded him of how it had been to be a child, to have had no worry about the future.

He used to receive a letter, accompanied by a present, from his mother every week. It had always made him happy and extremely curious to discover what type of chocolates she had sent him.

Thinking about his time in Hogwarts inevitably made him remember eight year, when way too few of them had returned to the school wanting to finish their studies. Some of the people who had been their colleagues had died in the war, the other ones had witnessed someone they cherished dyeing within Hogwarts’ walls and had been too scared and consumed by grief to go back so soon.

Draco had been amongst the few that did, because he had needed his NEWTS completed if he wanted to do his potioneer apprenticeship, and because he had felt that he deserved to be reminded everyday of what had transpired in the school, to be constantly aware that a big part of the deaths of so many people had happened because of his cowardice, because he had let himself be bribed into giving free passage to the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. For having sided with the wrong side, and not having had the strength to confront his father and make him see reason.

The only light in Draco’s life during his eight year had been the one brought every week in the form of his mother’s letters and sweets. They had been something physical he could hold onto.

While he was looking for his mother’s hidden package, as he went unpacking inattentively, he found a very familiar wood chest. It was unexpected to find something so precious to him there, as he did not ask for it to be put in his luggage, but the house elves seemed to have some kind of sixth sense, they must have known that he would crave a little piece of home in this unfamiliar place, and probably made the best decision possible by hiding there the chest in which he stored all of the letters that his mother had ever sent him, ever from his very first year at Hogwarts.

He was almost magnetically pulled to them, and started reading them in chronological order, frowning and smiling according to their contents.

That was where Potter found him a few hours later, when he barged into his room.

Barging might be too strong of a word for what happened, though, because to Draco’s great surprise, Potter knocked first and didn’t open the door until Draco gave him permission. It might turn out that Potter actually knew what privacy was. The world was full of wonders today.

“It’s almost time to firecall Shacklebolt,” Potter told him, eyeing the flood of letters surrounding him. He had piled them by years and months, not wanting to disturb their original sequential order.

“All right.”

Draco’s tone was softened because of his reading session and didn’t have the bite that he usually employed when talking to Potter. His politeness seemed to come as a shock to him.

“Good, um… I’ll be in the living room,” Potter said, just before turning around and leaving.

Draco sighed, meticulously put the letters away, and followed him quietly.

When he got to his destination, Potter was already sitting in front of the fireplace. He seemed to be submerged in his own thoughts.

“This place could use a bit of redecorating,” he said, looking around him in distaste. “I think it must look similar to how my great-grandfather had the Manor when he was very young.”

Potter snorted.

“I can back that up with portraits, actually.”

“Well, I’m not changing anything. It doesn’t seem very practical, considering that it’s just being used for a little while.”

“So, you plan to live like this for half a year?” he questioned, wrinkling his nose. “Classy.”

“If it annoys you so much, go ahead and do whatever you want with it. Just leave Sirius’ room alone and don’t burn it down.” Potter rolled his eyes, but his tone was neutral.

“That easy?”

“It’s not like I care about it, one way or the other. Are we going to call or not?”

Draco hummed. Fire was not something he liked to think about, not to mention that the house was not in such bad shape for him to want to completely destroy it. It needed a lot of work, yes, but it was nothing that a few well-placed spells and different decoration couldn’t fix.

When Draco didn’t answer and a few seconds passed, Potter must have taken his silence as an affirmative, because he threw some powder into the fire and stuck his head in it.

He was saying something, Draco couldn’t quite understand what, and then his head was out of the fireplace and the flames formed the minister of magic’s head in all of its greenish splendour. Green was not his colour.

“Gentlemen,” Shacklebolt said, “I am glad to see both of you are unharmed and unhexed.”

Barely, Draco thought with a grimace.

“We have decided to stay in Headquarters, arrived a few hours ago,” Potter said.

Shacklebolt nodded his approval.

Wait, what?

“I can see that, the place does look a bit different, have you done anything to it?” the Minister asked just as Draco was preparing to come with a round of questioning himself.

If Draco’s suspicions were right and this house had been the light side’s operating location, it was no wonder the Dark Lord hadn’t been able to find it. He mentally applauded whomever had come with the idea, he bet that Dumbledore had had something to do with it.

“I wasn’t intending to,” Potter frowned, “but Molly had us cleaning Grimmauld yesterday, and when we finished she got the idea of undressing and plastering the walls. And then painting them.”

Shacklebolt whistled unbelievably.

“That must have taken a while. You did all of it yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Potter affirmed, “it was kind of rushed, but we were quite a few and we managed to finish before sunrise, I think.”

Realization hit Draco that exact moment. _That_ was why Potter refused to tell him why all of the walls were white when he asked, and–

“Wait,” he intervened, “that’s why you looked like the ghost of Christmas passed this morning?” The question exited his mouth before he could stop it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” Potter glared.

Draco frowned. Well, that was one explanation for Potter’s sour mood.

Shacklebolt must have sensed the venom gathering at the tip of Draco’s tongue, because he started speaking in a calming, steady voice.

“Regardless, I am pleased to see that you have come to a neutral decision. I couldn’t have thought of a better house.”

Draco couldn’t suppress a sarcastic snort. This house was anything but neutral, what with it belonging to Potter _and_ having been the Order’s base, once. On the other hand, it did originally belong to one of his mother’s family branches, and the wards seemed rejoiced to have Black blood within them once again, so it could be worse.

“I’m sure there are things you would rather be doing than being forced to chat with me, and quite frankly I must go back to work soon, so I will try to make this as short as possible,” Shacklebolt explained with a gentle smile twinkling in his eyes. “Minerva has graciously accepted to help me with your monitoring. You will report to her each month, think of it as counselling, if you must. She will explain the details herself, “he paused. “As for me, you are to seek me out if you have any legal doubt or problem with your situation, although I hope I won’t be needed for anything negative.”

Was the Minister among the ones who were actually hoping for something to happen between him and Potter? The ones that thought that something was going to be accomplished from this farce except from broken bones and maybe a death, if they managed to piss each other enough?

God, he hoped not.

Father, he could deal with, it was absurdly easy to lie to him this days, but he didn’t know nor cared for appalling the minister himself, even if he didn’t particularly dislike the man.

“Isn’t the headmistress going to be at Hogwarts most of the year, though?” Draco asked.

“She is, but she will meet with you at your residence. The first meeting will be on February third, exactly one month from today.”

Draco stopped paying attention after that, letting Potter talk with Shacklebolt. There wasn’t much he could argue anyway, since it was clear that the decisions had already been made for them.

He agreed when the minister asked them if they were alright with the meetings. The firecall didn’t last much longer, and soon the fire was back to bright orange and they were left to their own devices.

“So, Potter,” he said, facing him slightly. Potter was still kneeling in front of the fireplace, but he looked like he was about to get up, “been playing house elf with your dearest Weasleys, have you?”

“Not as if I could count on you actually helping, could I?”

Draco snorted.

“And ruin your little family reunion?” he smirked. “What I don’t get is why you didn’t just say so this morning.”

“And crush your fantasies about me and Ginny?” Potter retorted, practically stealing the smirk from Draco.

“Fantasies?” He chuckled scantly. “You know how some people imagine their grandmothers or teachers naked to get rid of a hard on?”

Potter frowned in confusion, and Draco’s smirk increased in intensity, “what does that have to do with–”

“ _That_ is exactly what would happen if you somehow appeared in my range of vision at an inappropriate moment.”

“So, what you are saying is that you think about me when you have a boner.”

It was Draco’s turn to frown now, “that is what you get from this?”

Potter shrugged, annoyingly unaffected and making Draco huff his displeasure.

“No wonder you couldn’t find yourself a better prospect than the Weaselette, considering how slow your mind seems to work.”

Potter was on his feet and his wand was pointing at him in the blink of an eye. His eyes had lost the disinterest they had before, and they looked murderous, looking at him with a fiery expression that he hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. This was more like it.

“Don’t you _ever_ talk about like Ginny like that, “Potter said, his wand firmly before him. “Scratch that. Don’t ever talk about her, period. You don’t even deserve living in the same world as her.”

Draco swallowed, somehow managing to maintain an impassive expression despite his amusement starting to fade.

“Hit a backbone, have I?” he smirked, his gaze fixed on Potter, who took a deep breath.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter. _You_ don’t even matter because as soon as this ends, I will never have to see you again.”

Draco gets up, feeling anger slowly simmering within him. He took a few steps towards Potter, stabbing himself with his wand in the chest, _daring him_ to fire a curse.

“Well, guess what,” he said darkly, “that seems like a brilliant plan to me, because I don’t plan on following up with this joke of a mating either.”

He sneered in Potter’s face, then turned around and left. He was fuming as he was making his way to his self-proclaimed room. Who did Potter think he was? If anyone had any right to complain about this, it was Draco. He was the one who would be laughed at after serving time in this purgatory. _Draco_ was the one who would have to handle Father’s fury for not bringing Potter’s fame into the family, even if Mother managed to soften him somewhat. He was the one who would be mocked by their society for not being ‘good enough’ for their perfect little saviour.

They weren’t even speculations of his, he had already started to receive owls from angry Potter fans carrying menacing words and howlers. He had been burning them all, enjoying the undignified screeches the letters screamed at him as they were incinerated into oblivion, but he knew that they would only get worse once he regained his freedom.

He angrily opened the door, smashing it against its hinges once he got inside, and continued with his unpacking, if only to keep himself occupied.

It was dinner time when he finished, and he exited the room with his stomach growling and his mood sour. Luckily, he didn’t bump into Potter as he ventured out of the house.

He looked around for Muggles and, once he made sure that the street was still mostly deserted and nobody was close enough to notice him, he Disapparated. He decided to go to a muggle restaurant in the heart of London, because he suspected that Diagon would be even more crowded than that morning, and frankly, he was not in the mood for being the center of attention. Hogsmeade was out of the question too, even though the students and teachers were mostly home for the winter holidays, he still didn’t want to risk it.

He took in his surroundings for a moment, noticing that London was even fuller of life than Diagon Alley, the absurd quantity of muggles made him frown. He considered leaving, and maybe ordering some takeout so he could eat in peace, but the idea of spending another minute holed up in that house made him want to break something, so he opted to stick with his initial plan.

Nobody was paying him any attention anyway, except for the few that were sending him flirty looks. He thought that sex would have been a good way to blow some steam, but it was definitely not worth the Ministry’s anger.

After a few minutes of walking, he found the restaurant he had been looking for. He had been there a few times in the past, so at least he knew that the food was good.

He stepped into the restaurant, hoping that a meal would help calm down the incoherent anger that he had.


End file.
